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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27073351">A Softer Old Guard</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnglishAsSheIsSpoke/pseuds/EnglishAsSheIsSpoke'>EnglishAsSheIsSpoke</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1870, Alternate Universe - Roller Derby, Corfu, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-09 01:00:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,334</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27073351</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnglishAsSheIsSpoke/pseuds/EnglishAsSheIsSpoke</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A Softer Old Guard: Tumblr challenge prompt answers. Visit my tumblr at https://englishassheisspoke.tumblr.com to join in!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Nile Freeman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. #1000: Look At You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Inspired by one row of #1000: https://asofterworld.com/index.php?id=1000</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
  <p>The crowd is losing their mind, just screaming and cheering and not a single person seems able to blink, wide eyes everywhere, hands clasped over mouths, and it’s a wall of noise.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The scoreboard is tied and there are just nine seconds left on the game clock. Book called their last time out, they have no more official reviews, they have nine game seconds and maybe 120 seconds of jam time and they need lead and they need just one point scored and they have it. They’ll have done the impossible, beaten Gotham’s speed and experience, beaten Rose’s grit and determination, beaten Denver’s roster of stars and ability, beaten VRDL’s strategy and skill. They’ll have finally won and the whole year of clawing her way back to herself will have been worth it.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Ever since Vipes disappeared, not a word or a text or a phone call, Andy the Scythe had let part of her passion for derby die. Not the game, per se. Maybe her passion for the team, the players, and her position as captain. Nicky and Joe tried to keep her engaged, get her input on drills and scrimmage reviews. But she’d gone to bars after training and taken Book with her, and it seemed like the only way to keep going was to be numb to it all. Until one day a girl came in, was transferring from speed skating, took to derby like it was in her blood, had the nimblest feet Andy had ever seen, and she <em>pushed</em>Andy to be better. To work harder. To out-think her, and out-think their opponents, and to watch game footage from the United States and Australia and to want to <em>hit</em> again, land a block so clean and tight that she can feel the breath leaving the other skater’s lungs in an involuntary grunt. To take a star pass and kill the jam. To catch the other jam and hold them for lap after scoring lap. On the day Andy watched Nile land an apex jump, absorb a failed block by jumping a second time on one skate, and then sprint out of the pack, she saw possibility like a vast open window with a panoramic view.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Now DeNile is at the jammer line, Scythe’s pack squared off and partnered up, their formation set up to clear the inside line, to ensnare the opposing blockers and the jammer in one fell swoop of a wall, one last ditch effort, with every last ounce of strength and energy they have inside them. They’re covered in finger-shaped bruises and velcro scrapes, aching pain running through their legs, and adrenaline tingling through their arms. Book is standing calm at the bench, watching with a new certainty, while Nicky and Joe gather their teammates together, to stand together as one and watch whatever is about to happen. Scythe puts the stripe on and winks at DeNile as the timer checks her stopwatch and calls out, “Five seconds.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They’re going to win the Hydra. And when they do, she’s going to kiss Nile and it’s going to taste like joy.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 1870, Corfu, and Occasional Cats</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>#1155 of A Softer Old Guard challenge prompts, and also a segment of the still-to-come sequel to The Heart is a Badly Built Bridge.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="">
  <p>After the horrors and battles and victories and defeats of their time in America, Anne has settled in Australia with Achilles, Joseph and Nicolo are planning on enjoying some peace and quiet on Corfu, and Sebastiano had said he might travel through India for a time. But then the news comes that France has declared war on Prussia, and as always when his country’s leadership seems determined to waste the lives of its citizens, Sebastiano’s mood turns cynical, the turn of his lips when he smiles wry and humorless, and his hand seems to always be twisting the lid off a bottle or flask. So Nico insists he joins them in warm Corfu where he spends long days reading old newspapers, frustrated by the out of date information, reading books and practising his poor Greek, and he often becomes lost in thought staring out at the Ionian sea’s horizon. They hear him sometimes wake in the middle of the night with a cry, though he will not talk about his dreams in the morning. He shares every now and then a piece of his childhood in Marseille, little glimpses of tricks and thievery, hunger and the ocean, all tied together in a knot. He once prepares a bouillabaisse which he immediately decides is only suitable for the pigs and throws it away against their protestations, then drinks a bottle of ouzo for dinner. He mutters later in the dim lamp light that it is the way his wife’s family of fishermen used to prepare it, only he isn’t sure at all that he remembers all the ingredients and steps, only that it doesn’t taste right.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>One evening, over Nico’s delicious bourdeto, Sebastiano mentions he’s thinking of returning to America. There are some interesting works being done in the world of weather predictions by the military there, he says. He would like investigate what this progression of science might entail, while he has the free time to do so, before they join another war. Communications, certainly, the efficacy of telegraphs and signals, but also a deeper understanding of storm systems and how they affect the military’s strategy.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They ask questions about this Weather Bureau, not entirely sure what it is he’s talking about but broadly supportive of Sebastiano taking an interest in anything beyond dour solitude; they have a fine evening finishing the bottle all together, and Nico and Joseph go to bed warm, curled together like the beginning and ending of a sentence, bellies filled with good company, soothed to sleep by a peaceful breeze tickling the windows.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Joseph doesn’t realise that this is their warning that Sebastiano is going to be gone in the morning, a simple farewell note left on the kitchen table, stealing his presence from them like a thief in the night. But thus it goes with Sebastien Le Livre.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>This is why, a few months later when they find they have been adopted by a scarred, one-eared tomcat who comes and goes as he pleases, they call him Libretto.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Libretto is a menace and a delight. Joseph has always been fond of cats, while Nico tolerates Libretto’s moods for the rare occasions the little monster is in an affectionate state. When Libretto decides he must be fed and cosseted and rewards their attention with his rough, gravelly purring. Joseph does his best to convince the cat to love them and Nico enjoys being amused by how Libretto sits with his back turned, making sure to be close enough that they can see how he is ignoring Joseph’s attempts. He disappears for weeks at a time and turns up out of the blue, crying at their door for the scraps of their gutted fish. One memorable afternoon, Nico is napping in the sun and Joseph comes out to find that Libretto has appeared out of nowhere and is lying curled up on Nico’s belly, sleeping as well. He sketches it and keeps the drawing tucked away. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>One day it’s the last time they see him, though they don’t recognise the moment for what it is because it is entirely ordinary. Libretto is sunning himself on the brick wall, lazily flicking his tail; when Nico goes to stroke him, he hisses and takes to his paws, jumps down the other side and out of sight. Joseph laughs at Nico’s affront and they forget about it. Libretto never reappears afterwards. They put out fish for him, bowls of milk and water, just in case. Joseph walks the hills, making little cat noises and calling his name, although Libretto has never responded to either before. Joseph checks little corners when they go out for walks, shadows and nooks. Libretto might be hurt or sick, he says, and unable to come to them for assistance.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Nico thinks otherwise. Cats are just like that, Nico says. Joseph expects that is true, though he worries all the same. </p>
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